Page 11 of The Mafia’s Second Shot (Burning For You Again #3)

ZOEY

T he early morning light filters through the heavy curtains in my room, casting soft shadows across the walls. I sit cross-legged on the bed, staring at the window but seeing nothing. My thoughts are too tangled, too loud, replaying the events of the night before.

Gunfire. Cooper’s commands. His determination to keep me safe, no matter the cost.

And then his words, quiet but unyielding: “You’re not leaving, Zoey. Not until I know you’re safe. And if I have to force you to stay, I will.”

I should be furious. And I am. Furious at his arrogance, his need to control every situation, every choice I make.

But beneath that anger is something else, something softer and harder to face.

Because when he said those words, there was something raw in his voice, a desperation I couldn’t ignore.

It wasn’t just about power or control—it was about me.

About how much I still mean to him, even after all these years.

I rub my temples, trying to shake the thought. Cooper might still care, but that doesn’t erase the lies or the way he pushed me away when I needed him most. It doesn’t change the fact that his world is dangerous, and I never asked to be part of it.

Still, something keeps me rooted here, despite everything. Something I can’t quite name.

I spend the morning wandering the estate, needing to clear my head.

The grounds are quiet, the chaos of last night now a distant memory.

The gardens are meticulously kept, with paths that wind through rows of blooming flowers and perfectly trimmed hedges.

It’s beautiful, but it doesn’t feel real.

It’s too perfect, too pristine, like everything in Cooper’s life—a carefully constructed facade hiding something darker beneath.

Eventually, I find myself inside the main house again, my aimless steps carrying me to his office. The door is slightly ajar, and I hesitate for a moment before pushing it open.

The room is exactly what I expected: dark wood, leather chairs, and shelves lined with books that look like they’ve never been touched. A massive desk dominates the space, its surface cluttered with papers, a laptop, and—oddly enough—a small picture frame.

I step closer, my curiosity getting the better of me. The photo inside the frame is old, the edges slightly worn. And when I see it, my breath catches.

It’s a picture of us. From years ago, when things were simpler.

We’re standing in the park near my old apartment, his arm slung casually over my shoulder, both of us laughing like we didn’t have a care in the world.

I remember that day. He’d stolen my camera and insisted on taking pictures, snapping shots of everything and everyone until I finally turned it on him.

I pick up the frame, my fingers brushing against the glass. The memory is bittersweet now, a reminder of everything we lost. But it’s also a reminder of what we had—what we were—before his world came crashing down around us.

“Didn’t think you’d be in here.”

I whirl around, the frame still in my hands. Cooper is leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a softness in his eyes that catches me off guard.

“I wasn’t snooping,” I say quickly, setting the photo back on the desk.

“I didn’t say you were,” he replies, stepping into the room. “But you found it, didn’t you?”

I glance at the picture, then back at him. “Why do you still have this?”

He shrugs, but the motion is stiff, almost reluctant. “I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.”

The honesty in his voice surprises me, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say. I cross my arms, leaning against the desk. “Why not? You made it pretty clear back then that I didn’t belong in your life.”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, his hands flexing at his sides. “It wasn’t about you not belonging,” he says quietly. “It was about keeping you safe.”

“Safe?” I echo, my voice rising. “By shutting me out? By lying to me?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” he says, his tone sharper now. “You think I wanted to push you away? You think it didn’t tear me apart to let you go?”

“Then why did you?” The question slips out before I can stop it, my voice trembling. “Why couldn’t you just let me in, Cooper? Why couldn’t you trust me enough to handle the truth?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at me, his eyes dark and full of something I can’t quite name. Finally, he exhales, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought I was protecting you,” he says. “But maybe I was just protecting myself. I didn’t want you to see what I’d become.”

His words hit like a punch to the gut, but I force myself to hold his gaze. “You think that was your choice to make? You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, Cooper. That’s not how this works.”

“I know,” he says softly. “And I’m sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice catches me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know what to say.

I want to stay angry, to hold on to the resentment that’s been building inside me for years.

But looking at him now, I can see how much he’s carrying—the guilt, the regret, the weight of his choices.

It’s written in every line of his face, every word he speaks.

“I’m staying,” I say finally, my voice steady. “But not for you. I’m staying because I need the truth, all of it. If you want me to even consider forgiving you, you owe me that much.”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’ll get it,” he says. “I promise.”